'girl gets fat'- oh wait, i skipped that part. brevity sucks!

"ATTENTION HARDCORE HOTTIES:

Your first mini challenge will be a record of your journey!

I know many of you are probably doing this already but the other Team Leaders and I think a written reflection is a wonderfully powerful tool for us all to be using."

What brought you to this point in your life?  

I'll try to be brief.  There's a lot but I'll just hit the highlights.  Hotties-- if you like, you can read back through this blog to read the nitty gritty of my story.  

 {Umm I just finished this over an HOUR later, so no, I was unsuccessful keeping this brief.  I don't wear briefs, and I can't be brief apparently.  I wear bikini undies and want to look sexy in them, thus I"m here.  Ah shit, I should have just left it at that!  Oh well, hindsight.}

I did NOTHING fitness wise since high school.   I am nearing 40.  I had gained weight.  I wasn't turning any heads anymore and my self image was in the shitter.  I repeat, I did NOTHING.  Seriously.  I was the proverbial bump on a log.   

And then I changed it.  (leaving off much in this section for brevity!  you're welcome!)

In the past 2 years I have accomplished each fitness goal I set for myself.  First I decided to stop doing nothing for myself and find a way (beside reading People Magazine) to enjoy time on my own.  I started attending a weekly yoga class.   Aside from discovering the 2 warts on each foot I didn't even know I had on the very first day of yoga, and learning how hard it is to hold in farts during yoga, I liked it.  How in the hell did I get 2 warts on each foot, that's 4 warts total, without knowing it.  That's how out of tune I was with my body.  I was completely tone deaf where my body was concerned.  

But I took those socks off and I persevered.  I could have used my warts as an excuse to stop going.  I almost did.  But that was the old Greta.  This new Greta pushed herself out of her comfort zone.  After a few months however,  I was feeling restless with yoga.  To my ever-loving surprise, I wanted to sweat and have a workout.  Enough of the peaceful but mind blowing stretching, I finally wanted to move!  To jump!  To live!  So I faced some fears and signed up for my first bootcamp class.  

Strength training and cardio combined.  After workout one I was using my son's grab bars in the bathroom to ease myself down and hoist myself up because every muscle, fiber, cell, hair of my body hurt like a mo-fo.  I returned for that week's second workout and gave it my all again.  The next week I didn't want to return.  I was so sore I didn't know it was possible to move more.  But my husband Alan pushed me out the door and said you can do it Greta!  I grudgingly went.  After week three, I was willingly going and getting excited about it.  After a month, I was hooked!  I've been in bootcamp classes for two years and have gained overall strength a plenty!  

After my first 6 months or so of bootcamp I didn't lose any weight like I thought I might.  I hadn't changed anything with my diet and nutrition so I said fuck it and bit the bullet.  I learned how to count calories and ate at a 500 calorie deficit to lose one pound per week.  I lived by "a calorie is a calorie" so I changed little about WHAT I ate, but ate less of it.  I ate back my calories burned from bootcamp exercise.   

As the pounds came off (one per week as expected since I followed the calorie counting to a T) I was getting hungry.  Twice per week bootcamp wasn't cutting it.  I needed to exercise more so I could eat more.  Piddly amounts of food wasn't my thang!  I love to eat!  I decided to start running as a way to burn calories in order to eat more food.  The first mile was a bitch.  But running on my non bootcamp days gave me food --glorious food-- to eat and so I would run extra miles to drink beer, many beers!   Appetizers, many appies!  

I lost 25 pounds (from 170 to 145) in 5 months.  I've maintained my weight at 150 lbs. since.   And in the process I fell in love with running.  SHOCKER.  But I did.  I set my next fitness goal to run a 5k, then a 10k, then a half marathon, and then I registered for a marathon to be run on June 22, 2013.  I ran a marathon!  I trained for 18 weeks for that bad boy and ran the shit out of that mary!  My (some say) hilarious marathon recap is down a few blogs in the June area if you're so inclined.  

A byproduct for my marathon training (I was running upward of 40 miles per week in my biggest mileage weeks) was that I had to specialize in running for the last 2 months prior to the mary.  I had to quit bootcamp and I was bummed I would lose some of my muscle definition from all the endurance running.  But I kept my eyes on the marathon prize.   26.2 miles in 4:31:37 booya!

I started running regularly again in the end of summer of 2013 but decided not to train for another marathon this year.  I dealt with LOTS of injuries in my training and didn't have the patience to repeat that part so soon.  I just wanted to run without a big race for which to train.  Run, just run! Ahhhhh.  But I floundered around for a few months without a goal.  NOT a good look for me.  I needed a new passion and direction for my fitness energy.  

I reflected on how sad I was when I had to stop strength training when my mileage got up there.  I thought long and hard and decided I wanted some motherfucking muscles!  I want to change the shape of my body and chisel it into a hardcore hottie of the highest order!   I want to eat healthfully and not have 'a calorie is a calorie' mentality anymore.  I want to understand how food affects me and how to lift heavy.  Lifting heavy sounds heavenly.  I want to leave the gym feeling like a badass and I want to watch my muscles grow.   My next goal was born and I was happy again!

 What made you decide Hardcore Hotties was the right challenge for you? 

I LOVE social community and Facebook.  The Facebook group aspect was a big draw for me.  Meg being a bawdy bitch was a huge tipping factor.  I needed a trainer to give me the muscle-building tools.   I'm very good at being coachable and doing what I'm told but I knew I might be a little fucked up in the head with all the calorie restricting so I needed someone strong-minded that wouldn't pull any punches.  I've wondered off and on if I have disordered thinking about eating and food and my body image.  I was anxious about gaining fat back and I knew that building muscle would involve eating lots of food.  Eke.  The 3 month timeline is perfect for me.  I trained for my marathon for 4 months.  I loved it!  But knew I didn't want to further train for running.  In other things too, my pattern is that 3-4 months is the time frame that I'm passionate about an endeavor.   Lastly Meg seemed to know her shit about the science.  Done deal. 

What are some things that are holding you back from what you want to accomplish? 

Worrying about gaining fat.  Worrying that my body won't change.  Worrying that I'll get injured.  Worrying that I have a mild eating disorder.  Worrying that I'm spending too much time away from my kids on my own fitness planning and activities.  

How successful have you been to sticking to your stated goals each week? 

Successful.  I am a goal setter and goal achiever.  If it's in my Google Calendar, I do it. 

How do you FEEL about things? 

I feel anxious that the weight isn't heavy enough on my plan and I"m not going to be good at increasing to the right point without the presence of Meg.   I feel like I am eating so much protein that my stomach feels like it will explode, but it always seems to calm down and settle before I go to bed.   I feel like it's harder to learn to count macros than calories and that is irritating.  I feel like I couldn't love the Facebook group and the other Hardcore Hotties any more but I know I will because it's only been 4 days of interacting with them, and I have many more weeks to lean on them, to lift them up, to cheer them on, and to learn from them.  The leaders make me feel supported and seem to pull no punches like I need from Meg, so that is a total bonus!  


What are you most proud of? 

I am most proud of still continuing to take my socks off at yoga even after I realized I had those nasty-ass warts on my feet.  After a bit I nearly forgot that they were there and it was a very infrequent, fleeting thought to be embarrassed about them.  Did anyone say a word about my fucking warts?  NO.  Did I catch anyone looking sideways at them?  NO.  That taught me a few things.  A few very important life lessons that have helped me achieve goal after goal that I set for myself.  

It taught me that no one was really looking at me like I thought they were.  
It taught me that I could experience something great and not be bothered by how someone else might feel about my participation in it.  
It taught me that I could choose to be brave. 
It taught me that something might be horrible in the beginning but if I stick it out I will be rewarded. 
It taught me that my embarrassment is nothing but my own feeling.  No one shared it.  So why the hell would I still spend energy on it.  I'm too old for that shit.  

What are you scared of? 

I'm scared of failing.  I'm scared of being public about my quest for muscles and then derailing somehow and falling short.  

Share with us all a bit in the form of your mantra, your best tips, your ah-ha moments.

My mantra is "I've got moxie!"  I also chanted to myself  "Everything I need is within me" when the going got tough during the marathon.  I got through some tough tough spots with that mantra.   

When I don't feel like running or doing the workout, I remind myself it's one hour out of my day.  That's all I get is one hour so I am going to push it my hardest and work hard for those 60 minutes.  Then I have the rest of the time to relax and be there for everyone else and live life.  

Another strategy I use if I'm not in the mood to workout but it's on my calendar "I am able to work out".  I have some near and dear to me that aren't capable of working out like I can, so I damn well better not waste my gifts of ability.  It would be a slap in the face to those who want but can't.  

Lastly, I get into my workout clothes early.  If they are already on I'm much less likely to skip a workout.  I'd rather do the workout than face myself changing out of my workout gear without getting sweaty.   The horror.  

After EVERY workout and run I've ever completed, I've always been thrilled I did it.  I've never regretted a workout.    Sweating makes me feel alive!   

goals schmoals

Plump to Pump
Blog #8 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

12/27/13

I've been busy figuring out all the aspects of my Hardcore Hottie training plan. I have to learn all the exercises, how to use the machines at the gym, proper form, how to add more protein to my daily consumption without eating more meat, how to count my macros, and more. I'm feeling good about my progress toward being ready to start on January 1. I have become an avid viewer of video clips on bodybuilding.com. 

Don't confuse that with bodybuilder.com which is seedy and 70's-looking and has a picture on the cover page of a woman body builder in a purple bikini that turned me off so much I nearly ripped my Hardcore Hottie plan in half when I saw her in her awkward pose. Meg, my trainer, has this in mind as the place to send me?! Gross! Nasty! I persevered for a few moments and searched around the site for the video clips of the exercises to learn. I kept coming back to this over-muscled poser on the cover, crinkling my nose. I checked my plan, oh it's bodybuildING.com DUH. 

Whew. I'm relieved to see a reputable site and can report that I am now in love with a blonde bobbed built bodacious bountiful woman who is in their teaching videos. They have her in slo-mo showing me how to complete the exercises with weights and machines and I carefully absorbed each of her movements and muscle ripplings. WOW. She looks short, but she's never standing next to anyone so I can't gauge her height. But I'm 5'8" and I think in comparison to her my limbs are longer and my muscle type leaner in general. It's probably not right to pick a body and say "yep that's it, I want that look" as I think the hair stylists cringe at a photo of a celebrity hair cut when there's no way they can make my hair look like that. But I certainly envision my body to gain muscle -- and if you ask me -- she's the shit. Utter fabulousness. Blonde Bobbie I call her. She doesn't even smile or make eye contact with the camera throughout any of the video clips. And she's that magnetic. That body!

But I digress. 

So I completed Day 1 and Day 2 of my lifting routines this week in preparation for my Wednesday start. I have made a list of non-meat proteins to up my protey intake without having to shovel meat into my mouth non-stop all day long to achieve 155 grams per freaking day. I bought my lunch leftovers containers so no more Smart Ones at work. I learned to count macros and practiced a few days using myfitnesspal, not hitting the prescribed numbers yet, but who wants to blow their wad before the race even starts, not me. 

But something's been missing. I don't have a clear goal that satisfies my intense desire to have a clearly stated goal. I'm goal oriented, I didn't even realize it until two years ago when I started my fitness odyssey. But yep, goals and me, we're tight. 

When I decided to lose weight, I had a number on the scale as my goal. I had a starting point of 170 pounds and I knew I wanted to cut 25. I asked my husband to take 'before' photos. I stood in front of him, peeling off my clothes, at my lowest point. No sucking in. No good angles. Snap those damn pictures and let me see them. Oh crap, there it was. A sad sack in a sports bra and undies. I wasn't even exercising but I was wearing a sports bra constantly to pack my big boobs down as tight as could be so they appeared smaller under my baggy clothes. The look on my face is exactly how I was feeling about myself. But I had a starting point with a clear ending point. 

When I decided to run a marathon, the day came and I had to run a marathon. I had a starting point of being able to run about 3 miles in 32 minutes and needed to train to be able to run 26.2 miles in 4 hours 31 minutes. Starting point - clear ending point. 

When I decided to increase my muscle mass, uh, hm. I have taken measurements, my numbers will change, but I don't have a clue what they could or should change to. I don't know how I'm going to look with bigger defined muscles; I'm doing this to see if I like a more shapely, muscled body. The goal "look fucking hot in a bikini in March" isn't quantifiable. It's sort of felt like a plan without a clear goal in the end. Until now! Now I have my goal! I want to look like Blonde Bobbie's taller sister!

demise of the carbs

12/17/13
Plump to Pump
Blog #7 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp


I'm going to be starting my Hardcore Hottie Challenge on January 1. Two weeks ago I turned in my personal evaluation which was umpteen pages long and detailed my goals and present status as a bootycamper extraordinaire. Last week I received my plan from my trainer Meg. I have spent a few days figuring things out but have oodles of kinks to iron out before New Years Day so I can hit the ground running, er uh, well not running obviously. Running is out, protein is in. Shocker. Since I love running so much, Meg says one day of running per week is my choice, but if I want the big guns, my focus is nutrition and lifting and HIIT workouts. I feel like a million bucks after I run, so I will miss lacing up my purple sneaks and pounding the pavement for an hour at a time. But it's fucking cold outside, and the pavement is covered in at-the-beach-style snow which makes running not quite as fun. I think this is the longest cold snap in my recorded history, so ya, I think I'll live with just one run per week this frigid winter. Check. 

Ok, next. The protein. Jesus in heaven the protein. 155 grams per day of protein. Visions of chicken breast and deli turkey dance in my head until I throw up. I don't like to eat meat THAT much. So I've been researching all the ways I can add protein without wanting to become a vegetarian (again). My regular protein intake is around 90 grams at very most, so I've got some ground to cover. AND I have to cut back on the carbs. Oh delicious womanly carbs. I will miss you so. I have a max of 225 prescribed carbs in my plan (on workout days). Oh woe is me, that number is so sadly small. I am going to throw a little "celebration of life" for the demise of my mountains of carbs I like to scarf down every day. I'll light a candle for carbs. 

Throw an egg or cottage cheese in with every meal. Cut out my frozen Smart Ones lunches. Explore butters other than peanut. Craft my own salad dressing. Chuck the scale. The scale is the devil and, wait, what?? No weighing myself? But I just wrote a pithy blog about why I think the scale is just fine. I use it healthfully to keep my weight in check. I'm wrong?! I'm wrong. Muscle weighs more than fat blah blah blah. Yeah yeah. We will be measuring my progress weekly solely with photos and how my clothes fit. So if you liked my sneak-snap in my brassiere that my husband took last blog, you'll be disappointed from here on out. I am a terrible poser. Get the camera out and tell me to look a certain way and I freeze up. Something stupid happens and I look stupid and effortful. My daughter took over 100 pictures of us in our halloween costumes and there was one usable picture where I didn't look ridiculous and over-acted. Our costumes fucking rocked the house mind you, but me trying to act out Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction in her revived-with-syringe scene for the photograph was laughable. Or cry-able, Alan was visible irritated at many points in the kitchen photography session. 

By the way, I haven't weighed myself for 5 days, my longest stretch since I began weighing myself about 2 years ago. I'm going to try to hold off until Sunday. And maybe say fuck it on Sunday too.

scales aren't just for fish

11/30/13

Plump to Pump

 Blog #6 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

I'm a slave to the scale.  I admit it.  And I'm ok with it.  I've considered chucking it, but shudder at the thought.  Instead, I choose to enlist a select few intimates to tell me honestly and abruptly when I am going overboard with either cutting too much fat, or with building too much muscle.  If I am going all Keira Knightly to the bones, they will tell me to cool my jets and eat some more damn food.  Additionally, if I develop muscular bulges resembling Arnie Schwartzie, they will set me straight and let me know my boobs are going the way of the cutting board.   I am crafting a strong, athletic, chiseled body.   If I must choose a body or fitness idol, I choose Jessica Ennis, the current Olympic heptathlon champion.   She's a hottie bo bottie althete of the highest order.   I want to be able to outrun any asshole trying to hurt me or steal from me and then later that day woo my main squeeze into submission in my LBD or my bikini.   In short, I want to be a sexy motherfucker.  

So I weigh myself regularly, about 4 times per week.  This helps me stay on track with my goals.  I have read all the bossy flossies that scream at me to throw my devil scale away.   I have considered their reasoning, found it sound, and kept on doing it the way that works for me.   I am an information junkie so I gather up the data from all angles and use it to make informed decisions for myself.   This was my process when I decided to lose weight.  This was my process as I make choices about what to use to fuel my body.   This is my process when I decide training plans for my running or lifting goals.  

To sum, I use my scale to stay in a five-pound range that I am happiest living in, I use my intimates to keep me feminine but badass, and I use the internet to learn about health and fitness.  Earlier today when I was getting ready to go running, I had only my sports bra and running pants and socks on so far.  My husband walked into the room, stopped short, and breathed "damn you are looking fine, Greta!" and nuzzled in for some canoodling.  The other morning I was getting ready for work and talking with Alan.   Later that day, the attached picture was texted to me, sneaky snapper.  These Great Gaspy responses from him, and the fact that I ran 3 long blocks to work at 7am when I was going to be late for a meeting and it took me all of 20 seconds to catch my breath once I got there, is all I need to know that my way is working.  I am on point for reaching my goals and I'll be using a scale as I see fit.  To get fit.  

three pound diff, big whup

11/24/13

Plump to Pump 

Blog #5  for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

I've been back to bootcamp for 3 rad weeks and my body is thanking me by growing bigger muscles.   I was laying in bed this morning petting my little doggies and when the pooches jumped off the bed my right arm lay bent and rested with my hand on my pillow, near my head.  Try to picture it.   I glanced down at my arm and holy shit there was a bulge!    Where my bicep should be, was a lump of muscle!  I checked myself… nope, I was not flexing in the slightest.  I immediately called my husband Alan into the room.  Look at my arm, all loosely laying here, now check out the muscle!!  He oohed and aahed and damned if I forgot to have him take a picture.  It was a glorious vision to wake up to.  Muscle sighting at 7am while lounging in bed!   

 I feel so deliciously good when my muscles have some soreness from being worked.   Speaking of my biceps, those suckers were so incredibly sore for 4 days.   More sore than I would have expected or even thought right, my own fault.  Due to pushing my limits on poundage of the dumb dumbbells.  Shame shame I know your name.   Last time I was a bootycamper was March 2013, and I was heaving 20 pounders around like a boss.  So it's a bit of starting over since I've been off strength training for a few months.   However, I'm pleased to report it's not starting over from scratch, I did retain a good deal of muscle throughout my marathon training.  So bite me you people that say you can't maintain muscle while mary training.  I'm living proof.  I was running upward of 40 miles per week at the height of that beloved running insanity, and I kept the ole guns at the ready.  Score.

 Back to 'my own fault'.  I should have stuck to the 12 pounders that second week, as I promised myself I had to take things slowly so as to avoid re-injuring my neck.   Slow and steady wins the muscle building race, no?  I really have no idea, I'm a sweat-loving, muscle-pumping, burpee-despising novice still at knowing what the hell I'm doing when it comes to strength training.   I'm pretty sure consuming gobs of french fries is high up on the list of no-nos, but I'm still devouring a medium fry from Wendy's every chance I get.  I know just enough to make me dangerous I suppose.  

Dang, those 15s looked so ripe for lifting, and oh so sad over there where the wall met the floor.  Can't have those beauties all by their lonesome, so  I scooped them up for the bicep curls.  I ain't too proud to beg, but I am stupidly prideful to drop weight when I lose my form.  I kept at it with those 15s and Dustin the instructor went to failure.   I could feel my left bicep hinting at me to knock it the hell off, but I didn't listen and kept curling those 15s.  

Flash forward 3 days.  Walking through Target pushing a cart around.  When it was time to carry my pair of bags out to the car, I turned in the direction of the exit and dropped one of the bags!   Straightening my arms down by my sides to carry the bags made my biceps throb and I lost power.  Crazy!  I grabbed the stinking cart and threw the measly two bags inside it.   The big strong woman showing off her tight ass in the yoga pants has to push her 2 plastic Target bags to the car in the cart.  Yes, there was toilet paper involved, I can't even boast that it was a set of milk jugs.    

  

Moral of the story:  French fries good.  Pride bad.  

avoid the void

11/15/13

Plump to Pump 

Blog #4 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

I am very susceptible to comments about my body.   Case in point:  This summer when I was training with my personal trainer (and bootcamp instructor) 4 times per week and he was assessing my goals and consulting with me at the start, I asked him what he thought of my body.  He said I had good genetics for building muscle, that I was lucky about that, that he was happy to get to train me, that I had a good base of muscle built and that he knew how to help me reach my goals.  He did a quick couple looks and pinchy tests to my belly and arms and thighs, and concluded I had no fat to lose, and only had a little bit of back fat.   There were a few more complimentary remarks.  BUT guess what phrase rings in my ears every once in a while.  Yep- a bit of back fat.   He did not mean for it to be negative.  It was meant as a response to my query of what he thinks about my body in relation to personal training.  

Flash forward to this past Thursday.  Same dude, my bootcamp instructor, referred to me as "skinny".   Being called skinny feels the same to me as being called fat.  Skinny is not my goal.  Strong is my goal.  Fit is my goal.   This was the scene:  I had just taken off my sweatshirt.  I had a tank top on.  I picked up my 15 pounders and started pushing them up over my head, when he looked at me and said "You're looking skinny Greta" and I read a hint of alarm in his voice.  I immediately and audibly balked.  He reminded me how sensitive I am about words (which I am).  But I didn't want to subject the whole class to my questioning of his motives.   So I let it go and didn't pursue an interrogation about it.  

He had never called me skinny before.   He's said comments like "your shoulders Greta wow", "your ticep muscle is really long", comments that clearly referred to strength or genetics.    For the next set of 15 pushups I pondered, was I projecting my own feelings onto his words?   Probably.  Am I worried I'm getting skinny?  Perhaps.  Shit.  Too fat, too skinny, too big muscles, too small muscles.  Fuck.  When am I going to be satisfied?  Is any woman out there satisfied?  

As I got down on all fours again, this time for set 1 of 4 sets of 40 mountain climbers, I decided:  Okay, you are at least happy now.  You were miserable heavier.   So figure out why you're worried about being called skinny and make a plan.  Then I lost ability to think coherently because holy shit I was a sweating!  Before the climbers, we had just run stairs 4 times.  Holy shit do I love sweating!

 Side note:  I absolutely rocked mountain climbers that night.   First time I've dug mountain climbers, ever.   Previously, my heel would pop out of my sneaker, or my feet were mis-timed, or I was otherwise un-athletic with them, but not Thursday.   I was like a scissor cutting a straight line.   My feet were rhythmically switching so fast!    Not sure if it's the speed work I'm doing running or what, but smoke was coming off my heels for sure.   And to keep me knocked down a peg or two, I'm still on my knees for push ups.  All in good time, all in good time.  

Back to the story.  So, in my sweaty stupor I had decided to collect some data about my body, consider my feelings, and make a plan to resolve any problem I might find.  So with that, and certainly when I felt the gelling of my mountain climbers, I stopped stressing the "skinny" topic.   

Today, I took action.  I asked Alan to take my measurements, recorded them in my book.  Then Al took nudie pictures (just kidding, I had my same sports bra and undies I wear in each of my progression pictures).  I checked the numbers, basically maintaining at each body location.  Compared the photographs, close to the same since the last ones we took.  Huh.  So, now think about my feelings.  I'm feeling a void.  What is it?  Somethings's missing.  What's missing?  

A GOAL!   I always have a goal to work toward.  A few weeks back I met my latest running goal I had set for myself, a faster 5k time, clocking my new PR of 26:44 .   I don't have a running event on my calendar -- on purpose.  I'm not sure which distance I want to PR next, and I don't want to rush that decision.  I do know I'm not running a marathon this spring as I am not ready for the training and injury prevention commitments required.  I am hoping to have an injury free winter, and be able to focus on a grand goal without having to spend ample resources and time devoted to restoring my body parts at every turn.  

So what's it gonna be?  A goal helps me stay focused., keeps my training on track.  I see my workouts on my calendar and I don't skip them because I need to complete each in order to meet my end goal.   I can't deny it, there's still something to my feelings about being called skinny.  Like I said last time, time to build some motherfucking muscle.  2 bootcamps per week and a few days of running isn't going to cut it.  I think it's time to take my nutrition and my lifting to a new coordinated level.  I want to get through the winter months unscathed by added fat and looser skin.  Overall, my muscles are soft compared to where I want them to be.  

I hereby announce my registration in a challenge called the Hardcore Hottie Challenge-  beginning January 1, winner selected end of March.   I have secured personal training for January, February, and March to whip this bod into a sexy, muscular, appealing, and chiseled vessel.  End Goal:  look fucking hot in a bikini when I go to Florida for spring break!

up-sizing at target

11/7/13

 "Plump to Pump" 

Blog #3 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

Two years ago, when I weighed 170 pounds and had just come home from Target with new khaki work pants two sizes bigger, I put a pair on and stared in the mirror.   Yep, they fit.  Long enough.  Plenty wide in the waist so my belly isn't getting squeezed into muffin-topping over the fastener.  Great, I have work pants that fit.   Yay.  

I had never been so underwhelmed with a clothing purchase in my life.  I stood like a disgusted statue staring at myself.  A bumpy, lumpy newly-38-year-old woman standing there in Target khakis begging for an oversized shirt to cover it all up so I can get on with the day.  But I made myself take stock.  My fatty booby extra-flesh was screaming for air and squishing out the sides and over the top of my boob-packing sports bra.  A sports bra was the only thing I was wearing in an effort to cram my breasts so tight to my chest that they appeared a size smaller.  I realized it was a sad sad lie to live.  But I loved eating!  Eating out was certainly my favorite past time.  The more appetizery the better.  Give me spinach artichoke dip with crusty bread or give me death.  

It had taken me over a year to go buy the larger sizes.  I was shoving myself into too snug pants for months because I didn't want to face the music.    The tune that was playing:  I had gradually packed on the pounds.  doo do doo do doo do do doo  I wasn't caring about it enough to do anything.  la la laa la la laa  My pants were creeping up on my ankles because my thighs and butt were filling them up like never before.  Ooh ooh ya.  It was far passed time to plunk down some hard earned cash to up-size.    I refused to spend more than Target costs, however, as I was pissy-pants shopper, shopping under protest.  

As I stared in the mirror, I pondered.   Ya they fit.  But geez o pete what's next?  How long will it take before I need to buy new bigger pants?   Or is this the final size up?  That question was startling.  It meant I might be ready to do something about it.   Was I?   

I felt like shit all the time about my body.  I didn't want to go out because clothes didn't fit and I was so self conscious all the time.  Not a deciding factor, but I certainly wasn't turning any heads anymore and I had turned my share before gaining weight.   I didn't want to get naked, ever, and that's a problem since I shared a bed with my husband.   If I got nekkid I made sure to be flat on my back immediately.   Big boobies falling way deep into my armpits.   What a wicked world of worry I created in my head without a single outward person telling or hinting that I need feel or act this way.   I rationalized all the time that "I'm getting older, my body is changing, my metabolism is slowing, it's normal."   

What a crock of shit.   I wasn't moving.  I wasn't active.   I was eating gobs of boxed and breaded crap every day and drinking myself silly with cabernet.  I loved my wine the most.  A couple 2, 4 glasses of wine at night was becoming a habit that was bordering on hmmmm can I stop doing this?   Wine tastes so good.  It's such a perfect compliment to any and all occasions and wine and I had developed such a close comforting relationship.   Watch TV, drink wine.  Hang with friends and eat nachos grande, drink wine.  Eat french fries, drink wine.   Drink wine, drink wine.   If I had been living an active life and eating even moderately healthfully, and still gradually gaining weight, that would have been no big dealio.  

So, how old do I want to appear?   How big do I want to get?   It rang loudly in my  head:  Is this the final size up?   IS THIS THE FINAL SIZE UP?   Fuck this shit.   I'm done.  Time to get healthy.   That night I stayed up late researching and then registering on a website that taught me how to lose fat healthfully and how to maintain it.  I diligently exercised and counted calories and cut a pound per week.  Five months later I was at my goal., taking oodles of happy-ever-after-pictures.  Every pose imaginable, after pictures.  Glory be!  I had crafted a body I was proud to call mine.   I developed a level of fitness!   I was moving.   Stagnant no more.   I've maintained my fat loss for a year and a half.  Now, to build some motherfucking muscles!